


There's No Future In This Town (It's All In The Past)

by ffrindyddraig



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Asshole Dean, Bad Parents, Brotherhood, Castiel is called Castiel Jimmy Novak, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Half-Siblings, Dean is still a Winchester, Gay Sam Winchester, Homophobia, Literally No One is a good parent except Lisa, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, More tags to be added... probably, Multi, Not really happy, Probably Inaccurate Portrayal of America, Religious Castiel, Sam is called Sam Azazel, This was originally called the absent fathers club, Trailer Trash, but he has his reasons, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of mental issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-19 08:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffrindyddraig/pseuds/ffrindyddraig
Summary: Dean Winchester swore he would never go back to his hometown again, but Sammy's waiting by the town limit and Dean could never say no to him. Ten years is a long time, and Dean finds that his futureless home has changed more than he could possibly imagine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So another story I haven't finished writing out before posting so wish my luck on completing it.   
This is born out of three things. One : Castiel having a crush on his best friend's brother's sister. Two : my fear of moving out of where I was born, bred and nearly died little town and moving to the city. And three : my annoyance at the greatness coming from nothing trope, because some people have a shitty childhood and don't achieve fame and fortune, have shitty parents and become shitty parents themselves ect. Yeah, this isn't going to be a happy story lads.  
There is no time frame reference for when this story is set, but the use of meth suggests the flashbacks are set mid-90's and after. Instead of the Winchesters coming from Lawrence, they instead come from an unnamed town further south-west, but still in Kansas, Toto.   
Also the first couple of chapters Sam might seem a bit out of character in the present day sections but stay with me lads, there is a good reason.   
The title is from Dixie Avenue by Old Crow Medicine Show

** Now **

Sam was waiting for him at the town limit sign, back obscuring half of the battered piece of metal, falling apart knock offs toeing the dirt where flowers were once planted when the town's folk had something to be proud of.

The kid had probably been waiting for him there since Dean high tailed out of the only road which left his small, faded hometown ten years ago. For one crazy moment - and he'd been crashing from one mad second to the next since he left in a cloud of carbon monoxide and pain from everything he ever knew - he wanted to push the accelerator down, do a u-turn. He swore to himself he'd never come back here. Never walk again down those cracked sidewalks, have another watered down piss tasting pint at the Roadhouse, never utter a single word to those he left in the dust.

But Sammy had those same damn puppy dog eyes he had when he left, and without conscious thought Dean's foot pressed down on the brake, the speedometer crashing to zero. Maybe that was a true sign of how far he'd gone off the reservation.

He pulled to a stop in the middle of the road - it was not like anyone else came or left this town - and Sam grinned, face splittingly wide, all teeth and dimples. For a second Dean froze at the sight. The God he stopped believing in ten years ago knew how much he missed that smile. Even before he'd left, Sammy's smiles were getting rarer and rarer. This town crushed any joy that could be found in its borders, left the inhabitants burned out husks long before their time. No future, the past a forgotten memory, only the bleak, grey now.

Sam put his giant hands on the Impala's window frame, ridiculously lanky almost bent in two as he leaned his head through the gap, bangs falling over his face. Kid still needed a goddamn hair cut if you asked Dean.

"Headin' into town, stranger?" He drawled, voice thick was laughter. Dean rolled his eyes, covering the fact they stung with tears and his throat felt tight. He wanted to cry until he had nothing left inside of him but his daddy taught him at eight years old that _Winchesters don't cry boy_, and Dean never had the guts to point out the man's hypocrisy when November the second came along. 

"Just get in, bitch." He grunted, leaning over the bench seat and opening the door. Jumping backwards to avoid being hit, Sam glared at him.

"Jerk." He complained, but the grin was fighting its way back onto his face and Dean couldn't help but think after all that happened, maybe Sam had missed him too. The kid folded himself into the vehicle, giving the impression of being too large for the car. He'd always wondered when he was going to realise he had outgrown the Impala, this town, _him_. Dean realised it didn't really matter anymore. He flicked the car into gear and drove.

Sam flicked open the glove box, wrinkling his nose up at the fake IDs and credit cards that tumbled out into the foot well. He always had that righteous air about him, even as he wallowed in the dirt and the criminals right alongside him. He would of thought the kid would of worked out by now there was no honest way of living and, at least at one point, Dean had tried, which was more than Sammy could ever say.

Then again, it's not like anyone ever gave him a choice. And it's not like it really matters anymore anyway.

Sam must of learnt something though, as he kept his mouth shut, flicking the compartment closed without bothering to pick up the ones that had tumbled out. Dean was glad, he didn't want to argue, and Sammy was as stubborn as an ass. A simple disagreement could escalate into screaming and banging doors and, if it was a particularly bad day, punches and kicks. He got that from their mother. Ask anyone in town and they'll tell you Mary was a firecracker, and her daddy twice so. Dean wouldn't know - that side of his family came to an end when he was four with a needle and a spoon. Except for Sam, a flickering link to a clan neither boy ever really knew.

"Where have you been?" Sam asked, instead, flicking up and down the sun shield. He stopped at Dean's glare with an apologetic wince. He'd missed the kid, but he'd forgotten his more annoying habits.

Dean shrugged. "Here and there."

"I know it's hard for an old man like you to remember your geography lessons, but you could be a bit less vague there."

"Hey, hey, hey." Dean protested. He lifted a hand off the wheel, causing the car to swerve slightly to the right before he corrected it, and began to count on his fingers. "One : I am not old! I'm only four years older than you."

"Your crow's feet disagree." Dean ignored him, flicking up finger number two.

"Two : you know Big Tits Trish was in my geography class and how the hell was I meant to concentrate with those puppies bouncing across from me?"

"There was only seventeen kids in your year, Trish was in all your classes. Which, come to think of it, explains a lot."

"And three," Dean carried on, raising his voice over his younger brother's snark, turning his fingers around, "fuck you."

Sam shook his head. "You really haven't changed - still can't give a straight answer for shit."

Dean snorted. "Coming from you." Sam harrumphed in that righteous manner of his, crossing his arms over his chest and looked pointedly at the window, jaw locked. Instantly Dean felt bad, and goddamnit he didn't want to fight! With a sigh he pulled his free hand though his hair. "Look. Sammy. Sorry. I forgot how sensitive you are about that whole... _thing_." 

Sam's frown just pulled down further. "Did that sound more like an apology in your head or..."

"Jesus, Sammy, you know I'm not good at this stuff."

"Well you better start practicing; half this town is baying for your blood."

"Half?" Dean scoffed. "Bit steep, Sammy... unless... are all those assholes still pissed I screwed their girls back in high school?"

"And the girl's are still pissed you jilted them after. Small town Dean - they've spent the last ten years working out the best way to dispose of a body."

"I'd like to see them try." Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's cockiness. "Jody's still the Sheriff right?"

"Uh-huh, but she'll be at the front of the line."

"Why?" Dean asked, outraged. "What did I ever do to her?"

"Other than dedicating your teenage years to making her life hell?"

Dean shrugged. "Hardly a murder worth offense. Half the town did that."

"Well you did break Uncle Bobby's heart when you left."

Immediately Dean felt chastised. Bobby Singer was not his real uncle, but rather his daddy's boss before he got fired, something about _a little crazy bein' fine_ _'n all but it's gettin' in the way of business_. He taught Dean everything he knew about cars which saved his hide more than once on his extended road trip through America. Some of his best childhood memories were at that old scrap yard, and he could always rely on the old man to help him out of whatever scrape he'd gotten himself into, from a dry bed and a hot meal to a job with a steady pay check, and it sure didn't hurt that he was dating the Sheriff, not one bit.

"Still sore about that?"

"If I was you, I'd stay out of Miss Mills way 'til she's taken it out on some other poor asshole." Dean winced at the thought of what Jody could do to a man when she was pissed.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Sam lifted up his thumb to his mouth and began to chew the edge of his nail, a sure sign that the kid was nervous. Dean knew what was coming next : Sam wanted to Talk. The kind with feelings and confessions and all those other things Dean wanted to stay the hell away from.

Quickly he looked out the window, seeing his salvation at the sight of the local shop. It looked as it always did with its peeling sign and tarped over window they couldn't afford to fix, the other window blocked with advertisements, most of them fading signs for _Psychic Pam-Demonium_, which was actually the store room at the back of the shop. A new hairdressers had opened up and shut down in the time he'd been away, the inside now just with the skeleton remains of the reception table and shattered mirrors. The last shop on the town's pitiful 'high street' had been empty for the last fifty years.

He pulled onto the curb ignoring Sam's frown. "What are you doing?"

"Getting booze."

Sam's frown deepened. "Pay with cash, none of that fake plastic." Dean flashed his wallet at his indignant little brother.

"Relax, man. According to you, Pam's the only one in this town who doesn't want to gut me." He leant in closer to his brother, a grin on his face. "Dude, is she still hot?"

Sam wrinkled up his nose. "She's like fifty man."

"Experienced." Dean corrected with a lewd grin, remembering how those experienced hands taught him everything he needed to know about life in the shop's storeroom at fifteen.

"You need help." Dean snorted at Sam's scrunched up face, expression one of pure disgust.

"If I remember correctly people said the same about your choice."

"At least they weren't ancient." Sam shot back. Dean laughed as he got out the car.

"Look after baby." He told his brother, caressing the top of his car lovingly. "I don't want to see a scratch on her when I return."

"Dude, it's _parked_."

"Not. A. Scratch." Sam flipped him the bird as Dean walked away, chuckling to himself.

The bell above the door let out a half hearted jingle as he entered, the store completely devoid of life apart from him, though he knew Pam, the owner of the store, was hiding somewhere. As he looked around the dimly lit store he was struck once again that nothing had changed. He could close his eyes and still find the beer, no ID ever needed. He picked up a six pack, the alcohol section the only thing always fully stocked to keep the people of the town numb to their continued existence and strolled over to the till.

He jumped as someone slapped his ass, letting out a very unmanly yelp as he turned around, his surprise turning into a grin as he saw Pam. He should of seen that coming.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Dean Winchester, ass fine as ever." She smirked as she moved around the counter. Her raven hair was now streaked with grey and her wrinkles were deeper but _damn_ she was as good as a fifty year old could get in this town. "I knew you were coming, but the spirits forgot to mention you somehow got sexier."

He rolled his eyes at her comment. Pam was great, amazing, awesome - but she also thought she was psychic. Like talk to ghosts, see the future kind. She was always giving out free advice, handing out cards for her side business, the flyers on the door just a tip of the iceberg of how she tried to entice the sceptical locals in. The whole thing, of course, was a load of crap, not that anyone who valued their family jewels will tell her that.

"Spirit's tell you anything else?" He lent on the counter, suggestively. She too lent over - and grabbed his t-shirt, pulling him in for a kiss, which Dean was all too happy to reciprocate.

"Only that I get off at ten." She whispered into his ear before leaning back. Ringing through the sale, Dean handed over the cash, not surprised to find he'd gotten them half price. Probably the reason why this place was always making a loss.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And if you want me to contact - " Dean held up his hand before she could start up with that psychic crap. Drag up stuff he was dealing with already. That's why he was here, wasn't it?

"No. I'm fine."

"Dean - " she began, all sympathetic, and the one thing Dean couldn't deal with was sympathy.

"I said I'm fine, Pam."

The bell rang angrily as he stormed out the store and the whole car rocked as he got in. Sam opened his mouth, but Dean stopped his brother before he could say anything.

"Don't say a word." He warned, through the six pack on Sam's lap. It bounced off, joining the card's in the foot well. Sam grunted, rubbing the impact zone with a glare.

"I was just going to ask how it went." He grumbled.

"That's a word, Sammy." The boy pulled a face.

"It's nine, actually, jerk."

"Bitch." Dean replied, without thinking, a single word which cleared the air between them. He couldn't stay mad at Sammy, they were blood and goddamnit he missed him more than he thought possible. He pulled onto the road, the car seemed to know where they were going even though Dean had no direction in mind. The silence that blanketed the care as they drove was comfortable in a way he'd never managed to achieve with anyone else. For the last ten years his only companion had been music, but it never crossed his mind to turn on the radio, fill his baby with the sweet melodies of classic rock. He gazed out the window, watched the pitiful middle of town turn into even more pitiful run down farm houses and muddy fields, each building more and more spread out. Dean took a deep breath through the rolled down window. It smelt like manure and country; it smelt like home.

"You left." Sam's accusing voice cut through the silence. Dean swerved in surprise, cursing.

"Dammit Sammy." The kid kept his big puppy dog eyes on him, full of sadness and pain. Dean hated the fact he was the one to put that expression on his face.

"I _missed_ you." He carried on, and if Dean could he would of closed his eyes. Instead his gaze locked on the road being eaten up by his car.

"I miss you too, Sammy. So God damn much. But I couldn't stay. Everywhere I looked I was reminded of what happened. So I left - and I thought you would leave too." His voice broke, and he cursed himself for his weakness. This is why he didn't want to come back. This is why he should just turn his car around and leave.

Sam shook his head, smile patient. "I waited for you."

"_Why?_" His voice was full of despair, the road in front of him blurred. "All you ever wanted to do was get out of this crappy town."

"I can't leave."

If Dean's heart wasn't already shattered into a million pieces it would of broke then. "Sammy." His voice came out more as a beg than anything else.

"Left." He blinked at the sudden change of topic.

"What?"

"Take the left." Sam sighed as Dean still stared at him blankly. He leant over, turning the wheel himself, muttering about older brothers and Trish's tits. Dean pushed the kid away as they bounced onto an old dirt track.

"No touching my girl, Sam."

He rolled his eyes at Dean's comment. "Wouldn't have to if you could follow directions."

In front of them an old house came into view. Wood rotten and falling apart, the front door of its hinges and the windows boarded up. It looked like a strong breeze could knock it over. But Dean was not heading towards the house, instead turning the car away from it and stopping in front of a hatch in the floor.

Sam jumped out, stretching his long body in the weak sun. For a moment Dean could see blood on his clothes, soaking into the fabric in an ever increasing stain. Too much. He closed his eyes, thumping his head into the steering wheel. When he looked up again Sam was fine, a look of worry on his face as he watched Dean's face.

"Are you OK?"

Weakly, Dean nodded. "Y-yeah."

With one last worried glance shot his way, Sam bent down, pulling up the hatch to reveal a hole with a ladder going into it, a grin on his face like the sun after a storm.

"Welcome to the Campbell Family Bomb Shelter."

** Then **

The knock on the trailer door was timid, barely audible over the half-static TV. Dean would of ignored it - his daddy had strict rules about answering the door, the main one being don't - but he knew that knock. Twice pause, thrice. Taught it to Sammy for exactly this situation.

Carefully, the boy got up, picking his way towards the door like one would if a sleeping tiger was in the room, but the child's movements were to avoid rousing something much scarier : a drunk John Winchester. He'd stumbled home an hour ago from the Roadhouse, barely coherent, slapping off any kind of help from his fourteen year son. He'd barely had the time to collapse on the sofa and find an old black and white (though that was the only colours their set could get anyway) movie before slipping into a restless unconsciousness. Twitches and grunt filled the trailer as his dad fought his way through his subconscious mind but Dean learnt the hard way that when his father slipped into a whiskey fuelled sleep it was better to let him wake up naturally, water and drugs beside him.

The front door led into the main area of the trailer which consisted of the living room, kitchen and Dean's bedroom, the other doors leading to a bathroom the size of a postal stamp, and the master bedroom which could barely fit his daddy's bed in. Dean slipped outside, shutting the door behind him to avoid the man anymore disturbances.

Sam looked pitiful standing in front of the step like an abandoned puppy. At the sight of his older brother he rushed forward, colliding with Dean's middle, pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

"Just like a pup." Dean chuckled, hugging the kid back quickly before anyone could see him. He would hate to tarnish his reputation as a bad boy. It only became clear when did tried to pull away from the tight embrace that Sam was not hugging him out of excitement, but sadness. He could hear the now unmissable snivels being emitted and the tiny, skinny hands clutching the back of his shirt were shaking. His face was pressed tightly into the older boy's chest, like he was trying to bury himself in his brother.

Dean froze, mind flying through everything that could have gone wrong, but already knowing the answer. It was always the same : family. His own home life was no picnic, his father left for days, sometimes weeks, with a lashing if Dean hadn't stuck to the marine style training routine he left, but Sammy was only his half-brother and his family made Dean's daddy look almost cuddly. His dad maybe a tyrant, and a half insane one at that, but he loved Dean, even if he had never said those words. He didn't have to, it was in every interaction they had. But Sammy's, Sammy's didn't even care he existed. All he cared about was those stupid bags of powder. A kid shouldn't know how to take a needle out a vein, how to arrange someone after they've passed out so they don't choke on their own vomit. Shouldn't have to live in filth with no food, clothes, toys because everything they owned had been sold. Shouldn't have knives in the sink covered in blood because his daddy couldn't pay whoever the hell he owed this time.

But as bad as Mister Azazel was, he had nothing on Tommy. Because Sammy's dad may not care that he had kids, but at least he didn't hate them. Tommy was the oldest, Sam's half brother (and Dean can't express how damn delighted he was that he didn't share a single drop of blood with that asshole), and the leader of the clan due to their father's incompetence. Unfortunately he didn't know a damn thing about being a brother. He was volatile, a bomb armed and about to explode, and Sammy bore the marks when something didn't go his way. Tommy was a sadist, took pleasure in hurting those weaker than him. 

And then there was Meg. Compared to her father and brother she was a rose, but even the most prettiest one had thorns. For every time she stood up for Sammy, Dean could name too more where she pushed him under the bus for her own gain. But she did kick Mister Jenkins, the sixth grade English, history and art teacher, in the balls so hard he'll probably never be able to have kids for looking up her skirt so Dean could never truly despise her. He respected a woman who could look after herself, even if she was a lying snake.

The real question was which one of those assholes brought his brother to tears this time.

Slowly Dean managed to extract the kid from the death grip, holding him at arm's length. He looked a sorry state : long hair a tangled mess, nose snotty, lower lip quivering. And those big damn puppy dog eyes watery. Quickly, Dean checked for injuries and let out a silent breath of relief when he found nothing amiss. The sight of black and blue on his brother's skin always left Dean seeing red - though his blood still burnt like fire in his veins that someone had brought him tears. It always made Sam nervous of him when he lost control, like Dean would ever be able to hurt a single hair on his head. Not to mention that while the first aid kit in the bathroom was always fully stocked it would be damn hard to treat the kid without his daddy waking up. Because the worst Tommy could do was nothing compared to the horrors his father would inflict on the boy if he knew Sammy had even been in a mile radius of the house.

Dean stroked Sam's hair back, forcing a smile on his face like any of this could be OK. Not for the first time he thought of scoping the boy up in his arms and running as fast as he could from this shitty no star town. But the life Dean could give him out there would be no better than this one. Even at the age of ten, it was clear Sam was freaky smart. He was going to go places, get out, go to college, maybe a wife, kids, a goddamn picket fence. A future that would crumble to dust if Dean took him away. And, as selfish as it was, Dean belonged in this town. It ran through his blood as strongly as _protect Sammy_ did.

"Hey, Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean felt his heart sink to his feet when even the kid's nickname did not manage to raise even a weak smile. Sam loved that name, made all the sweeter to Dean as he was the only one allowed to call the kid that. Sam shook his head, bangs flopping over his face, a single hair sticking to the tear tracks. "C'mon tiger, you know you can tell me anything."

Sam brought his thumb to his mouth, biting his nail, making him look all the younger. "Is it - " He began, before looking away, more tears spilling out his eyes as he gazed at something past Dean's left shoulder. He gulped in a short, shuddering breath. "Is it my fault mommy is dead?"

Dean's heart stopped in his chest. There was a lot of rules in the Winchester house but the most important by far was not to mention Mary Winchester. Dean had few memories of his long dead mother, rapidly fading even as he kept them safe in his heart. Other than that the only thing he owned was an old photograph of the two of them hidden in the pages of his favourite Batman comic, saved from one of his father's rampages, and, most precious of all, the wedding ring hanging from a chain in his daddy's room. Dean would sneak in when he was gone and put it around his neck. It always comforted him to feel the cold metal press above his heart.

Sam had none of that. He'd never even asked, never even made an indication that he knew he had a mother, shrugging it off when Dean mentioned that was how they were related. At ten years old it was easy to think one simply came into being without thinking of the how's. This was the first time Sam had mentioned it at all, and God, he asked that.

"What? No!" But Sammy was a freaking genius. Too smart, really, for his own good. He heard Dean's pause, his mind already coming to its own conclusion. The doubt on his face was clear, his bottom lip trembling and new tears already forming in those hazel eyes. "Sammy. Hey, look at me." When it became clear Sam would much rather look any but him, he gripped the bottom of the boy's chin and gentle lifted it so he had no choice. "It wasn't. Your. Fault."

Sam looked like he was going to bolt into the inky black of the night. It was summer, the stars and moon clear above their heads, and the sweltering heat of the day tolerable now the sun had sunk below the horizon, so Sam would not freeze in his ill-fitting t-shirt and cut of jeans, but the fields around the town stretched for miles, the few that still produced a supply had corn twice the size of Sammy swaying in the weak breeze. It would be easy to get lost, the trek too long to make it to the next town over. If a local found him they would probably take him home, but Dean's father had drilled in his head at a young age to expect the worst of people, even those you know (_especially_ his daddy added one day, glaring at the bottle of his whiskey in his hands like it had personally wronged him, before taking him to shoot bottles off the fence, _the ones you know_.)

Wildly he grabbed Sam's t-shirt, unwilling to let his brother disappear into the darkness. For a second the boy struggled. If he wanted to, Sam could fight like a wild cat, use his teeth and nails, not afraid to hit below the belt. But he trusted Dean, and once it became clear the only way to escape would be to rip his t-shirt, he settled for a glare through watery eyes.

"Sammy, who said it was your fault?" Dean asked, refusing to believe the kid came up with this idea himself, or worse, had thought it for all these years and never breathed a word. Sammy quickly fell apart under his older brother's stare.

"Tommy." He mumbled to his feet. Dean laughed, not to be cruel, but out of disbelief. After all the falsehoods that bastard had told Sam, the kid still listened. Too sensitive, too trusting. To Dean's daddy it just made him weak, but to Dean it just made him _Sam_, and as girly as it sounded, Dean loved every part of him.

"Well, Tommy's a cunt."

Sam gasped, like even in a situation like this manners were important. "_Dean_." He hissed, like he didn't hear worse screamed, _threatened_, on a near daily basis.

"What, he _is_, and you know it too."

"But," Sam shuffled from foot to foot, thumb nail coming up before he caught his movement and dropped it back down to fiddle nervously with his hem. "This time he's right."

Dean was going to kill Tommy, slowly, painfully. But first he was going to make this right. "No! Sammy mom was... she was ill." The kid snorted, unimpressed with his attempt to soften the story.

"She was a druggie, Dean." He said it in such a way he seemed to surpass his ten years of age. Dean shuffled, awkwardly.

"Well, yes." He amended. "And one day she just took too much and it - " he cut off, swallowing thickly, unable to say it. "It's not your fault."

"Tommy said it was cos I cried too much, demanded too much. So she - " Sam sobbed, loud and thick, "she did it to get away from it, and cos of me you don't have a mommy."

Dean's fists closed at his side. "Mom loved us."

"Then why didn't she stop?" Sam cried, a raw, feral thing. And Dean wished he could answer that. He'd asked it himself enough times, the thoughts that spun around his head as he tried to sleep, that ate into his dreams. Along with the other questions he had no answers to, like _why did she leave me and dad? Why did she keep using while you were being formed so you born crying for a drug that should of never touched your blood stream? Why did she even start in the first place?_

_Was it all _my_ fault?_

Dean bit his lip. "It's complicated."

Sam shook his head, face stubborn even though the tears. "No. It's not."

Dean didn't want to say something empty, like _you'll understand when you're older_, because he was older and he didn't understand, and if anyone could at ten it would be his little brother. Luckily Sam was not waiting for his platitudes.

"I guess, what really matter, is if... you blame me."

Dean gaped. "_Never_." He pushed everything he had, was, into that one word, because Sam could not think he blamed him for anything. The kid already had to carry the weight of his fucked up family, Dean refused to let him add to the burden with something as heavy and bitter as guilt.

"Your daddy does." Dean winced, the memory of his dad attacking a seven year old Sammy flashing through his mind as clear as day. He had been so scared, not understanding why his father was hitting a defenceless child, screaming that he was a demon. He made Dean swear never to spend time with Sammy again, but there was some things even more important than his father.

"My daddy's ill. Actually ill." Dean added when Sam opened his mouth. "In the head. Losing mom broke something in there. He doesn't blame you, he blames - " he cut himself off, not wanting to tell Sam how his father, Mister Azazel with his evil smile and dead, dead eyes, got their mom hooked, " - everything." He finished instead, lamely. "Twisting the world is how his mind copes. And your his wife's son from another man. It's hardly a surprise he reacts to you badly."

"But you don't?" Sam asked, sceptical eyebrow raised, like he expected Dean to suddenly see what a fool he'd been and knock him on his ass. With a sigh Dean grabbed his brother's wrist before he began pulling him into the night, casting one last glance through the windows of the trailer to check his father was still passed out in front of the flickering TV.

"Where we going Dean?"

"You'll see when we get there." The older boy said mysteriously, earning himself a sigh and the kid dragging his heels even further into the ground.

"Dean!" Sam whined in the way only pre-teens could, but Dean did not let anything slip as he guided the younger boy away from his home. The roads were dark, no vehicles passing or streetlights shining down, but Dean could lead them with his eyes closed. It was a ten minute walk from the trailer, and only that because he tried to take a short cut through the Rosen's cow field and were chased by some very grumpy bovine.

The dirt track to their destination was near impossible to traverse through the foliage which had grown. Anywhere else a patch of land like this would of been greedily snatched up by developers eager to build a luxury condo to sell at a ludicrous price, or first time buyers wanting to fix something up to call their own. But nobody wanted to move to this dying little town in America. The last person to emigrate here was Missuz Tran and her child. The whole town had gone wild with speculation and outrage, not only was the child thought to be illegitimate, but they were also oriental! But in the five years since they had moved in they had fitted into this life like a home knitted sock, and the whole town, no matter how vocal they were when the family had first arrived, agreed the town was richer (in every sense except money) with the Trans in it.

Sam eyed the falling apart house at the top of the tracks, shaking his head desperately. "Are you crazy? I'm not going in there. It's a death trap!"

Dean chuckled. "You know you're meant to be a kid, right? Carefree and adventurous."

Sam pulled a face. "Yeah, not suicidal."

"Well, you're in luck, cos we're not going in the house."

The younger boy frowned. "Then why are we here?"

Dean pulled the boy around, stumbling slightly in the uneven ground before finding the trapdoor. Taking the risk of letting go of Sam for a second, he used two hands to pull the covering up. It screamed like a dying animal, Sam jumping closer to him out of fear. "Because of this, Sammy." 

The boy shuffled forward, looking down the hole. The light of the moon barely found its way inside the hole, showing only the start of the ladder. "What?" He finally asked, confusion on every line of his face.

Dean grinned, spreading his arms out wide. "Welcome to the Campbell Family Bomb Shelter."

The grandness was lost on Sam who only blinked owlishly and repeated his "what?"

Dean sighed. "Mom used to take me here when I was young. Her daddy built it, afraid of the cold war or something, and she came when she was scared or lonely or whatever."

"Campbell as in _Mary Campbell_." Dean grinned, thumping the boy on the back.

"There's the genius." Sam's eyes were now full of wonder, growing wide in his head, but confusion was still clear on his face.

"Why are you showing me this?"

Dean knelt down so he was eye level with Sam. "If I blamed you for mom's death," it was hard to get that word out of his throat, to admit the brave woman who birthed him was gone forever, "even a tiny little bit, I would have never shown you this. Ever. Sammy, we're _brothers_."

He tried to convey how special that was. How it was so much more than how Tommy treated him. How, to Dean, it was the most important thing in the world. And this time Sam got it. He grinned.

"Always?"

"Always." Dean took a second to appreciate the moment before levelling himself back up. "Now that's enough chick flick moments. C'mon Sammy, get down there."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, if there is a chapter that is going to make you turn away from this story it's gonna be this one, because Dean is a complete cunt, but he's drunk and he's trying his goddamn best and honestly that's no excuse and now I'm just rambling. Also I think Dean might have anger management issues because when ever I write more of this he just ends up yelling at people????? Probably me being unable to write anyone in character.  
But in good news, Cas is in this chapter!

** Now **

Dean followed Sam down the ladder, jumping down the last two rungs, and landing with a thump on the concrete floor. The entrance was tiny, hardly big enough to fit both of the men in. Dean found his face squished into Sam's shoulder, shivering slightly as he felt the coldness coming off him. He smelt musky too, like someone had left him abandoned under the bed for too long.

"Hurry up." He grumbled, and with a laugh Sam pulled open the door, arms straining with the heavy weight he had to pull towards him. The moment it opened, Dean stumbled through gratefully. Inside was pitch black, and it took a couple of stubbed toes and trips before he could find a lantern on the wall, which he quickly switched on.

For a second the light was blinding. Groaning he slammed his eyes closed, his eyelids turning a bright pink, before slowly opening them again. While Dean had not been to a lot off Fallout Shelters but he imaged his Granddaddy's design was fairly bog standard. A long thin room, two beds flanking the length walls. At the end there held enough canned goods from the sixties to feed an army for a decade, and a screen was put up to cover the toilet the other end.

Dean collapsed on the nearest bed, the mattress rock solid. Clearly his Granddaddy and him did not share the thought that if one was to survive the end of the world, they should do it in comfort. He pulled a can of beer out of the plastic and popped it open. Taking a long sip, he placed his feet on the other bed. Immediately Sam knocked them off with a scowl, taking a seat where they vacated.

"Big city made you forget your manners did it?" Sam laughed. His long legs splayed out in front of him. He looked like a giant in a bomb shelter made for midgets.

Dean flipped him off. "The country still flows through by blood, Sammy."

"Then you shouldn't have left." Dean took another long sip, fuming at himself for falling into that one. The kid wanted to talk about the one thing he didn't, like a dog with a bone. "You promised me you wouldn't leave me, Dean."

"Shut it." His voice came out as a growl, his fingers clutched the beer can so tightly they were leaving indents in the metal.

"I needed you here." Sam carried on, voice accusing. "You said family doesn't leave each other behind."

And Dean couldn't take it anymore. He threw the can in his hand, body working faster than his brain. The content sloshing to the floor as it spun through the air to his younger brother. Sam, with reflexes impossibly fast, ducked. The can hit the wall behind him with a thunk, landing beside him, the river of beer gushing onto the mattress, soaking the thin blankets and Sam's equally as thin jeans. He yelped as the cool liquid pooled around his ass, jumping up with a glare.

"Mature." He hissed so coldly the air in the room seemed to freeze with it, arms crossed tightly across his chest. Maybe it was the way Sam raised one righteous eyebrow at him, or maybe Dean had been lying to himself when he said he didn't want to fight, already fed up with holding back the screams that pounded under his skin, desperate to get free. 

"It's your fault I left." Dean said it quietly, but in the silence of the bunker he might as well of shouted it. Sam froze, betrayal etched in every line of his face as he stared at his brother.

"What?" He whispered.

"You heard me." Sam's legs fell out from under him, collapsing back onto the soaking bed. "This - whatever the hell this even is - isn't healthy, or normal, or even OK. You were making me insane, Sammy. I couldn't sleep, eat, think. The only way I could escape from you was into a bottle but God, I wasn't going to turn into my father."

Sam snorted, his own anger building, his eyes shining dangerously. It was always a sign of blows when the yellow in his brother's eyes seemed to glow. "So you left? All John did was leave."

Dean stood up, took one large step across the bunker so he was towering over the kid, chest heaving, the vein in his forehead throbbing. Sam, the crazy bastard, seemed completely unbothered by the furious man leaning over him.

"Shut up about my daddy. He did his best."

"Best?" Sam laughed, cruel and harsh. The temperature in the room dropped further, and Dean shivered, not even his anger able to keep him warm against it. "One day you'll choke on that shit you sprout."

"At least he loved me." Sam flinched away like Dean had physically hit him. It had always been Sammy's soft spot. The kid tried to push him off, placing his hands on his brother's chest, but Dean had the advantage, pinning him to the wall with two large hands on his brother's shoulders. "At least he noticed when I moved out. Would of stopped me getting into bed with the devil. Would of stopped him - " He choked off, unable to even think about _it_.

Sam no longer looked angry, his face holding only coldness. He reached forward, this time not to push Dean away but to stroke his face, feather light touch burning like icicles. "Come with me." He whispered so quietly that if there was any wind his words would of been blown away and lost forever.

Dean made a sound, half growl, half sob, and completely primal. Sammy's face was getting blurry. "I _can't_." He hissed. "God, Sammy, I was meant to come back and you would be gone."

Sam shook his head, small smile heartbreaking. "I can't leave this town, Dean, and I can't leave you. Ever."

His anger was twisting, turning into something he couldn't handle : grief. "_Please_."

He wasn't one to beg, a Winchester was proud, stiff necked, they weren't meant to be the broken men they had become. Sam didn't hear him, cocking his head to the side.

"Someone's coming."

Dean pulled away, ears pricked but the sound of any engine was impossible to hear through the thick walls of the bunker. Sam pushed past him, too fast for Dean to catch, disappearing up the hatch like a flash. Gone before he could blink. The kid had always been light on his feet - a necessity he perfected when Dean was away. Ten years too late to be of any use.

He could hear the engine now the doors were open. A chugging hum that cut through the silence like a knife. It was out of place, a foreign entity that told Dean he wasn't the last person in the world, the only man left standing. It made him want to scream at the unfairness of it all, of this car taking away the chance to talk to his brother, like he was four again and his mother was pressing a dry kiss to his forehead before walking out on his life.

The engine cut off, followed by a loud creak of the door opening. Dean eyed the entrance, the ladder that was beyond and wondered if he could follow Sam's example. Run off to the neighbouring fields and disappear. But his car was outside, the last thing he truly owned, and he couldn't leave her.

Each foot put down on the rung of the ladder felt like a war drum. The person reached the bottom without turning around, taking a deep breath like he was just as scared of this encounter as Dean was. Then he turned.

"Castiel?" Dean gasped like a prayer. The ten years had changed the teen into a man. His dark hair was neat, combed to one side, not the constant bed head he used to sport, and a scattering of stubble covered his jaw that had lost all its youthful, soft curves. He wore a dark suit, his black tie pulled loose around his neck with the top button undone to let him breath now his shift was done. He wore a tan trench coat, just as he did when he was young, but the material was more expensive, the scruffy, frayed ends of the old one nowhere to be seen, no patches his sister Hester had sewed on when the holes had got too large and threatened to rip the whole coat in half. In fact, there was no signs of the over wear his childhood one had sustained - Castiel would never have parted from that one, insisting on wearing it even in the height of summer where one would be drenched in sweat walking ten steps in only their underwear.

But the man's eyes, a brilliant, cold blue which seemed to look through you into your very soul, those where the same as they ever were.

"I now go by the name Jimmy." His voice was the same painfully deep growl, and Dean was pulled back to the long summer when they were fourteen and the boy's voice had kept dropping and dropping until one could not believe he once had a high pitched squeak before. It took a second for his words to register - and, really, it was so _Castiel_ for that to be his first words to a long lost best friend - and Dean snorted. James was his middle name, more sensible than the angelic names their father had christened his eleven children with.

"Jimmy is a stupid name."

"You used to say the same about Castiel." Dean grinned and the man returned the gesture. In two large steps Dean had crossed the room and clutched Cas into a hug one would give a man who had returned from the dead. For a second he just stood in the embrace before his stiff arms circled him back. Cas had never been good at social interaction, the very definition of awkward. But as good as Dean was at making friends, he found it damn near impossible to keep them, too abrasive, too quick to anger, too rude, but Castiel had stuck by his side through the years, and as strange as he was, he was also Dean's best friend. That, he hoped, had not changed through the lonely years.

He pulled back, unable to stop the grin that broke out on his face as he took in his friend once again, mind unable to comprehend the changes. "God - " His grin just grew wider as Cas grimaced at his blasphemy, for as much as he changed, he was still the same as the kid Dean grew up with "- Cas, you look almost respectable."

"While you... do not."

"Well, you're right about that." Dean shoot Cas a wink, who just looked vaguely bemused. "I can't believe Meg lets you out the house looking like that."

The man frowned, his eyes turning darker, hooded. "Why would Meg have any input on whether I leave the house?"

Dean snorted. "Bad break up?"

He didn't know why he thought the two would of stayed together; they were as far from a match made in heaven as one could get. Meg was, to put it bluntly, one of the biggest sluts in the county, while Cas had spent years pinning after that ass like a school girl (and it had always been obvious which one wore the trousers in their hurricane of a relationship). When they had finally crashed together there were fights, screaming matches and tears - the most memorable being when the kid had lost his virginity to her at the ripe old age of nineteen and spent the rest of the night sobbing to Dean about how he was going to hell. An example of their father's goal of raising them by the good book spectacularly back firing if you asked Dean.

"Explosive." Castiel, at least the one he knew, really exaggerated and Dean winced at the thought, glad he missed that. Dean flopped back down on his bed, and Cas, taking one look at the still-wet beer stain on the other, sat uncomfortably next to him. He shook his head as Dean offered him a beer, examining Dean as intently as he had him. With a shrug Dean popped open the tab for himself, chugging down half the can in one long gulp.

"So, Cas - "

"Jimmy." He interrupted. Dean rolled his eyes and ignored his friend's request.

" - how did you know I was back in town?"

"Pamela told me." Cas had the decency to look embarrassed as Dean cursed the town's peoples need to gossip. They probably all knew by now.

"What? Yesterday?"

Cas frowned. "You have been gone a long time but I find it hard to believe you do not remember Pamela is a fraud."

Dean rolled his eyes again, well aware that if he was not careful they might roll right of his skull. He nudged Cas' shoulder. "And yet you still can't get a joke."

"Yes, I have been trying to improve on that."

He snorted, taking another gulp. "Keep at it, angel."

"It has been a while since anyone called me that." He spoke with a small, sad smile, that left a cold pit in Dean's stomach.

For a moment a silence descended on them. Unlike with Sam this one was thick with a heavy awkwardness that threatened to suffocate Dean. He hummed under his breath, tapping out a _Metallica_ tune on his knees to the wrong tempo, pausing every now and then to take another sip. He only stopped when Castiel said his name, whatever deep thoughts in his head had run their course. If it was anyone else the serious tone of his voice would of been an indication of what he was going to say, but the man always looked like the fate of the world rested on his next words.

"It's been ten years."

Dean froze, his throat getting tight, almost impossible to breath though. "Like I could forget." He managed to squeeze out. Everything in his posture told Cas to leave it alone, but the man could not see those lines, stumbled through them without thought.

"We are going to the church tomorrow." Dean's fingers tightened around the can, the metal creaking in his hand.

"Cas. Shut up." He warned, but the man did not stop, a confused look on his face, head cocked to the side like a baby bird.

"Are you not pleased we are coming together for your brother?"

"Too little, too late." Dean hissed out through gritted teeth. "How is praying going to help any of us now?"

Cas looked pained, big eyes deep with grief. He leant towards Dean, placing a hand on his knee. It was warm, even though the denim. Long fingers, strong from years of playing the piano at the church. "You're not the only one who lost a brother that day."

Lightening fast Dean rose, knocking Cas' hand off, feeling sick that he was even touching him. His emotions felt like a rollercoaster, anger flying into happiness then grief then anger again. Always back to the anger which growled in the pit of his stomach like an untameable beast. "No. You don't get to do that. Lucifer deserved his fate after what he did to Sammy. Hell, he deserved worse. You don't get to pretend it's the same. Not when it's your fault they met in the first place."

** Then **

Nothing in this town was new. Been that way since the dirty thirties and anyone with a brain between their ears fled. But even for this town, this flat was a low.

The walls were grimy, the floor doubly so, and Dean thought he would catch something just sitting on the couch. But everyone person Dean knew under the age of thirty was crammed in the three roomed plan, the music wasn't half bad, and there was enough booze (and defiantly more than enough of other substances) to have the party verging on great.

In fact, the only thing that stopped this party from hitting awesome was that he'd been invited by Castiel.

Cas, who never got invited to anything, who lowered people's cool factor just by being in the same vicinity as him, brought _him_ to a party. But as crushing as that fact was, it wasn't a surprise. This was, after all, his brother's house warming humdinger. And Lucifer, being the family man he was, invited all his siblings - bar Michael, who was currently running the church after Ol' Pastor Jim croaked, and Anael, who had finally run away to become an actress and thus barred from even having contact with the rest the family. (Castiel had ignored this family rule in one of the only acts of rebellion Dean had ever seen from the seventeen year old, and exchanged letters that spoke of fame and fortune which the Winchester was sure were lies.)

Of course, Dean would of heard of the party from other sources - his less favourable ones seeing as Lucifer, who was raised by a God fearing man had eagerly excepted the devil into his life at the first opportunity. He'd even arranged to met Lisa, his on-off girlfriend if she had 'nothing better to do'. It meant she'd be here - there was never anything else to do in this town. 

Dean was on his fourth can, the world turning pleasantly fuzzy and his mind on the one thing all teenage boy's minds go to given enough time : sex. After three cans the girls in this town started to look _good_. All mini-skirts and revealing tops that left nothing to the imagination so Dean could forget he knew way to much about their personal lives, and they knew way too much about his.

If Lisa didn't make an appearance soon, this would definitely turn into an 'off' night for their relationship. Hell, at this point he'll even have another go on Fat Shirley. She'd been checking him out for the last half an hour. The only reason she hadn't danced over in those too small, unflattering shorts yet was because of Dean's personal cock blocker. Castiel, still as sober as a judge, had an annoying habit of quoting the bible if Dean tried to get laid with him around. Nothing quite ruined the mood like being explained in graphic detail how one was going to be tortured in hell for one's deviant acts. And the part that might actually be funny if it wasn't happening to him was Cas actually thought he was being helpful.

Dean looked around the tightly packed room - noting with a sigh Fat Shirley had given up on him and was on a new conquest, a big, burly farm hand with pupils the size of dinner plates - and upon finding no one he could dump his best friend on turned back to the annoyance in question. Only to find Castiel was on a conquest of his own.

Cas had this way of watching people : gaze intense, head cocked slightly to the side, and a frown on his face like he found everything his fellow humans did confusion and strange. Even when Dean was doing the most basic task, like reading a comic, he would get a shiver down his spine and look up to see his friend analysing him like an exotic monkey in a zoo. He even looked at porn with that same clinical expression on his face, which Dean knew courtesy of a disastrous fourteenth birthday present. The memory of Castiel flicking through _Busty Asian Beauties_, before asking him in all seriousness why the woman would expose themselves in such a manner still brought Dean to tears with unstoppable laughter.

But what caused Dean to give his best friend a double glance was not his 'people watching' but rather which _part_ of the specific person he was watching. Never before had Dean see him check out a girl's leg.

And they were damn fine legs for him to start on. Strong, a bit chubby for Dean's liking, but ending in a perfectly round ass that definitely didn't have any panties on. If this wasn't a mile stone in Cas' process of becoming man, Dean would hop on that without a second thought.

He whistled. "Now that's a fine bit of ass. Dude," Dean hissed, poking Castiel in the side. "Go over and talk to her."

His best friend turned towards him, looking at him the same way he was looking at the girl's legs, which was just pain disturbing. "Why would I do that?"

Dean laughed. "Checking out a girl _and_ making a joke. Cas, if I knew this was all it took to make you into a real boy I would of made your brother move out years ago."

Cas frowned. "I did not make a joke, nor have you explained why I should talk to this woman."

"You're right - you'll have a better chance if you don't say anything. Play up the whole strong and silent thing, chicks dig that."

"A better chance at what?" His head was cocked so far it was almost at a right angle. Really, this was tragic. Had he not taken in any of the wisdom Dean had tried to impart to him over the years?

"Jump her bones. Do the honky." Dean sighed at Cas' blank expression. "Sex, man, I'm talking about sex."

Castiel, God bless his sexual repression (even if the Lord was the one at fault for it) blushed. A pink flush that spread over his face and neck, making him look like a thirteen year old with his first boner. "I do not wish to have - " he whispered the next word, like God would smite him just for saying it " - sex with this girl."

"Right, and I don't want to screw Leia."

"Who is - "

Dean threw up his hands. "Dude, I never thought I would say this about _Star Wars_ but it doesn't matter. Tonight, Castiel, you are going to become a man."

"You may be correct." Dean blinked, mouth falling opening at his best friend's statement.

"Come again."

"She is walking towards us now." Dean quickly sat up straight, fixing the collar straight on Cas' coat.

"Ok, man, act cool and follow my -_ shit_."

Cas' permanent frown deepened. "I fail to see how excrement had any part in this."

"What? No! Cas, that's _Meg_."

The bastard just nodded as Dean stared at horror at the heavily made up fourteen year old. She had dyed her hair since Dean had last seen her, dark brown turning into a bleached blonde with pink highlights, thick eye shadow to match. He thought it didn't suit her, but then again, he wasn't the most impartial man to ask.

"I am aware."

Dean's mouth opened and closed for a second like a fish out of water before he found his voice again. He couldn't believe what his friend was saying, doing. "Clearly not! It's _Meg_. My brother's sister. And a complete bitch."

"Yet she has, as you put it, 'a fine bit of ass'."

Dean shook his head, unable to comprehend, hell not even wanting to. "This is a joke. It's got to be. No way can this not be some kind of horrible prank which is completely _not funny_."

"What's a joke? Your life?" Meg answered, a smug smile on her face. Dean transferred the glare he was sending to Cas to the girl, his eyes darkening even further. He wondered how long he would do in prison for murdering a minor.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Well, that's my plan." She winked - _winked!_ \- at Castiel, and the teen actually understood her lewd and filthy flirting, his pink blush turning redder by the second, giving him the impression of being a trench coated tomato. Dean turned his glare back to his friend, who at least had the decency to look ashamed, before crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why don't you go back to being a slut over there?"

"Dean!" Cas hissed, bright blue eyes turning icy.

"Yeah, Dean-o. That isn't very nice. Do you kiss your mama with that mouth? Oh, wait." Dean growled, and if it wasn't for his best friend's arm holding him down he would of pounced on the girl. Meg just grinned at his pain, carrying on. "Now, you should take some hints from Clarence here - he's a real gentleman."

Cas cocked his head, the usual look of confusion on his face, his arm still holding Dean down. (And when the hell did his best friend get so damn strong?) "My name is Castiel."

"Don't encourage her." Dean spat, and was completely ignored.

Meg just grinned bright red lips at Cas, twisting a lock of hair around her finger in a way she probably thought made her look sexy. "I know, handsome."

"Then why are you calling me Clarence?"

"Because aren't you just an angel." Dean rolled his eyes as he made the connection while Cas (God bless him) still looked befuddled.

"I - " he began, before thinking it over once more and shook his head. "I do not understand."

Meg sighed, a big overdramatic one that didn't suit her and showed her young age. It was easy to forget with her tough as nails exterior and way too revealing clothes that she was still a kid. She had the same look Sammy had, the one that made them look old before their time with the horrors they had seen, but unlike her brother she never had that naivety. A realist through and through, and her reality sucked.

"Watch a movie."

"I have watched many movies."

"Those whack-a-do bible films they show you chumps at Sunday School don't count."

Cas' mouth opened again, but Dean put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. At least her comment will nip this whole crush thing in the bud. If there was one thing Cas couldn't stand was people knocking the good Lord. He was glad, the last thing Dean needed was his best friend asking for tips to get his brother's sister.

"Look Meg." Dean began, hotly. "Why don't you just - "

He cut off, voice trailing to nothing, his eyes landing on something so much worse than Meg. So awful his mind couldn't process it. Because across the room from him was Sam.

Looking like a fag.

He was up before his mind caught up, fist clutching the back of his younger brother's t-shirt. Ripping him away from the main room, away from prying eyes. Sam struggled, twisting around, fists wild, cursing up enough of a storm for the rest of the party to look their way.

"What the fuck? Get off me! I'll - " he cut off as he managed to twist himself around and see his attacker. His eyes grew so wide it would of been comical if they weren't rimmed with dark eyeliner. "Dean?"

But Dean could only growl in response, low and feral, belonging more to an animal than a man. He kept tugging Sam along, the kid stumbling behind, unable to maintain Dean's brutal pace with his shorter legs. Once he realised Dean was not going to offer any salvation, a flash of betrayal crossed his face. It was nearly enough to make Dean pause - he never wanted Sammy to look at him like that, he swore he would never let the kid down. Maybe if he was sober... The look on the kid's face disappeared as quickly as he came, painfully used to those he trusted hurting him, and he began to struggle away again.

Every eye in the room watched their slow progress, the whole town would know about this tomorrow. Nobody tried to stop them. One man, Zack, stepped forward, hesitantly, only for his sister to pull him back with a quiet muttering about family business. Good. Dean wouldn't be responsible for his actions if anyone attempted to stop him sorting this out.

Finally he managed to push the kid into the bathroom, the man smoking in the mould laced tub taking one look at Dean's murder filled face and fleeing, slamming the door shut behind him so hard the whole house shook. He forced Sam to the sink - even in his rage as complete as this he wouldn't shove his brother's face down that shit filled toilet - and turned on the taps to maximum. The pipes shook as water gushed out, filling the sink quickly. With one hand in Sam's ridiculous mop of hair he pushed the kid's face into the sink

Sam spluttered and fought, hands stopping their ineffectual punching and going to each side of the sink, muscles shaking as he desperately tried to push himself up. Water splashed everywhere, soaking Dean, the floor, dripping from the edge of the basin. Sam cracked his head on the taps, knuckles turning white as they clutched the sink, angry bubbles breaking the surface of the water. His feet got Dean in the legs, but the older boy had spent his life training under his father, strong and used to pain, and Sammy didn't stand a chance against him. Dean pulled him back up, coughing and gasping, face red and make-up dripping down his face in ugly rivers. With a growl, he submerged Sam again, until his struggles faded away to nothing.

This time when Dean pulled him up he let him go, Sam staggering away on weak legs, coughing water out of his lungs, before collapsing at the edge of the bathtub, flopping to the floor to a puppet whose strings had just been cut. For a moment the older boy just watched him cry, knowing he should feel something other than the anger burning low in his stomach.

Carefully Dean edged towards the kid so he was squatting in front of him. Sam kept his eyes fixed on the tile floor, and with a growl the older boy grabbed his chin and pulled his face up so they were eye to eye. Behind the sheen of watery tears there was pure hate glittering in them.

"What the fuck Sammy?" He growled, voice still more animal than human.

Sam laughed, cold and bitter, raw. "What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm not the one who just tried to drown their own brother!"

"I'm not the one looking like a fag."

Sam flinched at that, tried to pull his head out of Dean's grip but he was still too weak. He locked his jaw instead, eyes blazing with defiance. "What? So I should be glad you didn't take me around the back and shoot me?"

Dean recoiled, letting go of Sam, the venom in the words physically stinging him. Did his brother really think he could harm him? "Jesus, Sammy, I'm protecting you."

Sam stared at him like he was crazy. "What, from crazy people who might try to drown me?"

"Yes! From people who would because you look like a fucking faggot. Sammy, you can't walk around looking like - looking like _that_." He motioned at his brother, at the make-up now smeared and dripping.

"Even if I am one."

Dean snorted. "Don't be stupid."

Sam snarled. "I am. I'm gay!"

"You're thirteen!"

"Like you weren't sticking your tongue down everything with a vagina's throat at my age."

"That's different!"

"Why? Cos you're straight?"

"Exactly!"

The exclamation seemed to ring in the air for a second. Sam just sat there, panting, skinny chest heaving up and down. When he finally spoke it was no more than a whisper, his eyes cast to his hands. "I thought you would be alright with this."

The pain in his little brother's voice was enough to break Dean's heart, the anger twisting and changing into sadness. He rocked back onto his heels. Taking a deep breath he scrubbed his hand over his face, through his hair. "Sam, it doesn't matter what I think. It's going to get you killed."

"Bring it on." He said it with murder in his eyes, but Dean knew his brother, knew he wasn't strong enough.

"I won't let you." He said, softly, shaking his head.

"You won't let me live my life how I want to?"

"Not like this."

Sam's eyes flashed and with all his strength he pushed Dean, sending his older brother falling to the floor, his head cracking against the opposite wall. "Fuck you." He hissed, lifting his t-shirt up and scrubbing his face as clean as he could before darting on the door. Dean reached his hand out, a desperate grab for his brother's ankle, but Sam stomped on his wrist, hard, and Dean let out a yell. Sam unlocked the door, pulled it open - and froze at the sight of Castiel standing there.

"Do not let him out!" Dean shouted from the floor, trying to pull himself to sitting with unresponsive limbs. His best friend took in the state of the room, the taps still running in the sink, the water covering every surface. And them, Dean cursing and struggling on the floor, Sam tear filled and pleading.

"Cas." Dean warned, but his friend stepped aside. As quick as a whippet Sam disappeared around him. 

With a groan, and every bit of Winchester stubbornness he owned, Dean pulled himself up, the world spinning slightly around him. With two large steps he was across the room, and nose to nose with Cas. He tried to push past him, follow his brother before he had disappeared, but a strong hand on his chest halted his progress. He looked up at his friend and found himself on the receiving end of the most terrifying stare he'd ever seen, and he'd been on John Winchester's bad side more times that he could count. He had no idea his friend's clear blue eyes could hold so much fury. For the first time in his life, Dean was scared of Castiel, but he handled it in the same manner as he did everything which terrified him (except planes, because anything that could fall from the sky deserved the upmost respect) he yelled at it to mask his fear.

"What the hell, Cas? I told you to stop him."

"I heard."

Dean growled, stepping closer so they were only millimetres apart, noses nearly touching. "Then why the hell didn't you?"

"I thought it would be prudent to give you time to cool off."

"Me?" He spluttered, unable to believe what he friend was saying. "Jesus, Cas, are you on his side? I thought God hated the gays."

Cas blinked at him. "God loves all his children equally."

Dean snorted, bitter. "Yeah. Right. Tell that to your brother's flock when they smash his face in. I'm trying to help him. So why don't you. Get. Out. My. Goddamn. Way."

Cas crossed his arms over his chest, standing up as tall as his frame would allow him to, but he was still young, not properly filled out, his body not blocking the whole door way. "You need time to think about your actions."

"I'm sorry."

Cas frowned. "For what?"

Dean took a deep breath, eyes closing for a second, before tightly forming a fist with his hand and punching his best friend as hard as he could. Cas stumbled backwards, nose in his hands. He made no attempt to fight back, eyes holding only shock. "That." He explained as he darted out the bathroom door.

Eyes wild he manically searched the flat, finding Sam like he had a beacon attached to him. He was talking to a man. But not just any man, like Dean would get that lucky. No, mid-twenties, blonde hair and eyes the exact same shade as Castiel's : Lucifer. With a curse, Dean rushed forward. He had heard enough about the man to know he shouldn't be in a teen foot radius of his brother, that he was named after the devil for a good reason. Unfortunately Sam seemed to of left his brain tonight in the meth den of his home.

"Sammy!" The kid shrunk, hiding behind Lucifer who turned towards his cry, smile on his face the same as the one a shark would give to a fish it was about to eat.

"Dean, I presume? Sammy doesn't want to talk to you, and honestly, neither do I. So I suggest you skedaddle." He motioned Dean away with his hands.

"Nobody asked your opinion, asshole, so stay out of this."

"You wound me." He mockingly put his hand over his heart, smiling like he thought this was all some sort of joke. "But, see, this is my house and removing an insignificant germ like you from it would be easy." His eyes glinted something dangerous, something which looked like knives and guns and unmarked graves. Like hell he was leaving his brother in this mad man's care. He said as much to Lucifer, who laughed in response.

"Really, Dean." Lucifer said his name like he was a piece of shit on his shoe. "It's not either of our choices, is it Sammy?" He stepped aside, revealing the kid, chewing his thumb nail. Slowly he pulled it away, eyes flickering everywhere but his brother. For a second they found Lucifer's, and the older man nodded at him. With a shaking breath he turned to Dean.

"Just go."

Dean shook his head, refusing to hear the words his brother was saying. The words that had to be from Lucifer, even if it was Sam who was saying them, because his brother would never tell him to leave, would never want him to go. They were family, he must know Dean was only trying to help him. "No way. Not without you." He took a deep breath, doing something a Winchester rarely stooped to : he begged. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I blew up in there. I accept you, or whatever, but other people won't. You have to know that, don't you? And, God, Sammy, I can't lose you."

Sam's eyes began to tear up again. "I can't lose you either. But... I need you to go."

"You heard the kid." Lucifer butted in, smile so wide it seemed like it could swallow him whole.

"Sammy - " he began, unable to stop. He just knew somehow, deep in his bones, if Sammy walked away he would lose him.

"Dean." The gravelly voice was not one of the people in front of him but rather that of Cas', somehow even deeper from the blood still dripping out his nose. "Lucifer will not harm Sam. I cannot say the same about you at this moment."

Dean turned on his friend, the rage that had been turning to desperate despair back. This was a family matter, he didn't need the Novak's blocking any progress he was trying to make with his own damn brother. "Shut your goddamn mouth or I will for you."

He looked back at Sam - only to find they were already gone, lost in the crowded house. With a curse he rounded back on his friend, hands clutched in fists, only to see he too had left, leaving Dean on his own, the world as he knew it slipped away from under him. He punched the wall, cursing. It was better than crying, which is what he really wanted to do, could feel his eyes burning, but he was a Winchester goddamnit. With one last glare around the room, he left the house.

He didn't see Meg laughing at him as he fled.


End file.
